The Trichomes in the Cotton
by MoreBonesPlz
Summary: Something is irritating Booth and Brennan needs to figure out what it is. How else can she help him? This one-shot is part of the "Boxer Rebellion" series. Soft M.


**A/N:** _I couldn't resist. Here's my contribution to the "Boxer Rebellion" Bones fanfic challenge issued by FaithInBones. Only criteria for the challenge is that it has to incorporate Booth's boxers into the story, although I think there may be bonus points (or, at least, lots of fan love) if the story involves separating Booth from his boxers too._

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 **Disclaimer** : I own nothing _Bones_ related except my imagination.

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" _Booth, someone's coming."_

 _Booth jumped up quickly, pocketing the small tools he'd been using to try and pick the lock on the desk and grabbed his partner's hand. "Quick, in here," he ordered, pulling her into a small supply closet at the edge of the room. It was a tight squeeze with not nearly enough room for the two of them unless they were pressed intimately together. Booth widened his stance, making room for Brennan to stand between his legs, the soft, round globes of her buttocks pushed up snug to his crotch while his chest pressed against her back._

 _Inside the dark closet, the only sound to be heard was the soft in-and-out of their breaths, unconsciously synchronizing as they tried to avoid detection. Outside the closet, they could hear the distinct rumbling of voices, too muffled by the door to distinguish words, but loud enough to assure Booth and Brennan that they needed to stay put if they didn't want to be discovered._

 _Booth placed one hand against the back of the door, right above Brennan's head, using it to prevent himself from pressing her too hard against the door. Uncertain what to do with his other hand, he snaked it around her waist, splaying his fingers against her abdomen. Standing that close, Booth could smell the sweet floral tones of her shampoo; he could see the shadowed outline of her brow furrowed in concern; and, he could feel the rise and fall of her diaphragm with each breath she took. It occurred to him that it would be so easy in this position to slide his hand a few inches upwards and distract her most pleasantly by teasing the nipples of her breasts. Or downwards. He could slide his hand down to where her thighs came together and cup that most feminine part of her. The black, stretchy leggings she had worn for this outing had enough elasticity that he could easily slip underneath the fabric. He could slide his fingers directly into her folds and feel the slick moisture as it flowed from her core. If she cooperated and spread her legs a little for him, he could even slip a digit or two deep inside her, stroking in and out the way he'd like to do with another part of his anatomy if they weren't stuck in this closet._

 _Just the thought of it was making his blood race south and the only thing staying his hand was the uncertainty as to whether she could remain quiet if he touched her that way. She had to feel the lengthening of his erection pressed against her ass though. No way she'd miss that._

 _The thought lingered, his imagination producing vivid images that tempted him to test her. With the sound of "Takin' Care of Business" by BTO running through his head, his fingers twitched, ready to start moving, exploring . . ._

"Booth." Brennan nudged her sleeping husband's shoulder. "Booth, wake up." Her groggy voice penetrated his mind, pulling him most reluctantly from his slumber. "Your phone's ringing."

Booth grudgingly gave up his dream and surfaced from sleep, recognizing the musical ringtone signaling the Assistant Deputy Director was trying to reach him. At this time of the morning, barely 4:00 AM and well before the sun was even up, it could only mean one thing – Booth and Brennan had new case.

After hanging up the phone, Booth stumbled into the bathroom for a quick shower. Trying to give Brennan a little extra time to sleep a little more, he got dressed in the dark before making his way to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee and call his father-in-law to come watch the kids until daycare opened. As he stood there waiting for the coffee to finish, he let his mind wander back to the dream he'd been having before being so abruptly interrupted by the phone. He wished he could've slept long enough to find out what would've happened next. Or, if the dream didn't conclude with the happy ending it was heading to, that he could've gradually woken up in bed with his wife and created his own morning magic. Those thoughts weren't helping his morning hard-on abate any though and he had to keep reaching down to adjust himself, his erection rubbing uncomfortably in his undershorts.

Once the coffee was done, he poured a mug for himself and one for Brennan. Wandering back into their room, he placed a gentle kiss on her lips to wake her up, then offered her a mug and told her they had about 30 minutes to get ready before Max would get there and they needed to leave. Brennan held her mug with both hands curled around the cup and simply inhaled the delicious aroma for a moment as the cogs in her brain started to turn before finally taking a large sip and setting the cup on her nightstand so she could go take her shower.

Years of traveling to a variety of archeological digs and body recovery expeditions with extremely rustic and impersonal amenities for hygiene care had taught Brennan the skill of a quick shower when needed. She was back out of the bathroom in less than five minutes wrapped in just her towel and found her husband standing naked from the waist down as he tossed aside the pants he'd been wearing and pulled another fresh pair of boxers from his drawer.

She looked at him oddly as she headed into their closet to select her own outfit for the day. "What was wrong with the pants you had on? I think they're one of my favorites for showing off your physique."

Booth blushed, glad she couldn't see him. It wasn't so much that he was unwilling to admit to her that the rigidness of his cock brought on by imaginings of her had felt uncomfortably abraded by his shorts this morning; he was just starting to feel irritable and didn't want to get into a discussion about it. "Nothing," he answered. "They just didn't feel right this morning and I decided I want to wear something else."

Luckily, she let the subject drop.

* * *

Driving to the crime scene a short while later, Brennan watched her husband as he filled her in on the limited amount of information the Assistant Deputy Director had been able to provide him on the phone that morning. He sounded and acted quite vexed and she was trying to determine the cause. He pulled on his tie repetitively, kept glancing out the driver's side window into the dark beyond, clenched and unclenched his hands on the steering wheel, and kept shifting around in his seat. After spending over 10 years together as partners, friends, and then lovers, Booth was the one person she felt she could reliably read, but when she tried to question him about his mood, he just became belligerent and they ended up spending the majority of the ride in frustrated silence.

Things didn't improve much when they finally arrived at the crime scene. There was plenty of light to see by because even though it was still too early for the sun to make an appearance above the horizon, the remains had been discovered indoors. The deceased was located in the back of a warehouse that stored parts for plumbing systems. Racks and racks of pipes of varying materials and all sorts of different sized and styled fittings were stacked on shelves up to twenty feet tall. The rack system was completely automated such that all an employee had to do was type in the part number they needed from the computer at the front of the store and a robotic piece of equipment would follow wires embedded in the concrete to the correct shelf, retrieve the required part, and deliver it to the front of the building. As such, there wasn't much foot traffic necessary within the aisles of the warehouse and the body tucked behind the shelves of Y-reducer couplings looked like it had been there for at least a couple weeks.

Brennan knelt over the body, her own mood rapidly deteriorating as a result of Booth's mysterious crankiness, her demeanor defaulting to concise and clinical. After a few moments of examining the body, she was able to state gender and ethnicity. An examination including some measurements of the tibia allowed her to provide an approximate height and weight of the deceased. A quick check of the skull gave her enough insight to declare foul play was involved. Booth diligently recorded each of her observations on his colored index cards and she assiduously rattled off facts, ignoring his shifting weight from foot to foot and the occasional snarky comment he offered up.

By the time she had completed what she felt could be done at the scene and released the FBI to recover the remains and ship them to the Jeffersonian for further examination, she and Booth were starting to snarl at one another. They both crawled back into his SUV with slamming of their doors and the drive back to DC was fraught with tension. Brennan spent most of the drive replaying her observations from the crime scene in her mind and developing her plan of priorities for what needed to occur once the body arrived at the lab, which would probably not be for about two more hours after she got there. She tried to ignore Booth's fidgeting and his black mood until they were almost to her office and she heard him cursing softly under his breath.

That was the last straw. She needed to understand what was bothering him so.

Booth pulled up in front of the Jeffersonian where he often picked up or dropped off his wife as they were going to or coming from somewhere else. Brennan turned to face him and simply stated "Park the car. You're coming in with me."

"What?" Booth objected. "You don't have any new information for me. You don't even have the body yet."

"I don't care. I don't know what has fluffed your feathers this morning, but we can either have it out right here, right now, or we can do it in my office. You're not leaving until we discuss whatever this is that has you so angry."

Booth stared at her for a moment, jaw clenched and wanting to argue, until he finally gave in. "Ruffled. Ruffled my feathers, you mean."

She just frowned at him, giving him that angry school teacher look and he started driving towards the parking deck. She was right. He'd been acting like an ass all morning and if nothing else, he owed her an apology. Who knows? Maybe an apology would even be enough to avoid an explanation.

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Booth followed her into her office where she deliberately closed and locked her door, shutting the blinds to avoid their argument becoming fodder for office gossip even though it was still early enough that only a handful of other people were in the lab yet. That handful included Angela and Hodgins.

Before she could say anything, Booth jumped in with his apology. "Look, I'm sorry. Okay? I know I've been acting like an unmitigated ass this morning. I'm irritable and I've been taking it out on you, which wasn't fair. I'm sorry."

Brennan stared into the depths his brown eyes and could read the sincerity in his words and the regret for his behavior. He truly was sorry for being such a bear, but that didn't explain _why_ he behaved that way. "I don't understand. You seemed affectionate when you first woke me up, but then your mood disintegrated. Did Max say or do something when he showed up at the house? Or did I say or do something that I'm not aware of?"

"No. No, neither you nor Max did or said anything wrong. It's just me and the mood I'm in."

Brennen shook her head, rejecting that as an explanation. Booth didn't devolve into moods like this without some sort of reason even if she didn't always think his reasons made sense. "I don't believe that. Something triggered this conduct of yours. Tell me. What's going on, Booth?"

Booth continued to battle with his conscience for a moment more. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and ground his teeth together, clenching his jaw, but he knew it was pointless. He had to come clean. "My balls itch."

Whatever explanation Brennan had expected, that wasn't it. Her brows shot upward and her eyes opened wide in surprise. "Pardon me? Did you just say –"

"Yes." Now that it was out there, he had nothing left to hide. "My balls itch. Ever since shortly after I got up this morning, all I've wanted to do is scratch my crotch and you know how it is when you have an itch that you can't scratch, right? Makes you crazy. And irritable."

"And an ass, apparently. Is that why you changed your pants this morning?"

"Yeah. But it didn't help. I spent the whole time at the crime scene trying to keep my hands out of my pants. Every time I move and I rub against my underwear, it makes me nuts and I want to hit something."

"Well, take them off and let me take a look."

"What?" he croaked, looking around and dropping his voice to an exaggerated whisper. "No way. We're in your office, Bones. During the day. With people right out there." He waved his arm gesturing towards her glass wall.

Brennan rolled her eyes at him. "My door is locked and my blinds are drawn. The only person who will see you without your pants on is me and I shouldn't have to remind you that I am intimately familiar with your penis. I know what it looks like whether you're flaccid or erect. I have seen, touched, and tasted it many times before. If something is irritating your skin, I'll probably be able to identify it even better than you as I'm sure I've studied your penis in more depth and much more closely than you ever have and I am trained to notice anomalies about the human body."

"There are no anomalies with my penis."

Brennan just snorted. "Strip . . . Now . . . Go commando," she demanded. "It's not like you've never done that before and maybe it will help."

Booth pursed his lips, annoyed, but knowing that yet again, she was right. "Fine." He reached for his belt buckle, opening the fly of his pants. "Fine. I'll just take off my pants." He toed off his shoes and let his pants drop to the ground, his boxers following right behind. "Right here in your office when there are people right outside your door." He stepped out of his clothes and Brennan reached down for his underwear, tossing them onto her desk. She lifted the tails of his dress shirt with one hand and reached out to touch his penis with the other, ignoring the twitching as it went from flaccid to semi-erect under her observations.

"You do look a little more red than usual. Perhaps a sponge bath and some ointment would help you feel better. I think we keep a salve in the medical kit."

Brennan dropped his shirt tails and turned back to her desk while he pulled up his pants, not wanting to stand around trouser less in her office. She picked up his boxers, intending to fold them up and tuck them in her bag to take home that evening when she noticed a light brown dusting of particulates scattered over the paper on her desk beneath the boxers rousing her suspicions. Pulling a blank sheet of paper from the printer and placing it on her desk, she held the boxers over the paper and gently shook. Sure enough, when she stopped, the clean piece of paper now also reflected a dusting of light brown particulates.

Booth watched silently, not sure what was going on.

Brennan grabbed a magnifying glass from her drawer and bent over to look at the particulates closer, her lips compressing together in a straight line. "Oh, my." She stood up, grabbed an empty petri dish off her shelf and tilted the paper so the particulates fell into the dish.

"What? What's going on, Bones? What is that?"

Brennan shook her head. "I need to confirm my suspicions before I say anything, but if I'm right, you'll be fine shortly. Stay here." With that, she took her petri dish and exited the office, leaving a confused Booth standing all alone.

* * *

Brennan headed straight for Hodgins's office and was gratified to see that he was working at his table. "Hodgins. I need you to take a look at this and tell me what you think it is."

"Oh, hey, Dr. Brennan. I didn't realize you'd made it in yet this morning." He reached for the petri dish she held out to him. "Is this from the crime scene this morning?"

"Not the one at the warehouse, no."

Hodgins smirked at her cryptic answer. "Okay." He started preparing a slide of her sample to examine under the microscope, chatting as he did his work. "By the way, Angela and I wanted to thank you and Booth again for babysitting Michael-Vincent last night. The only time we could schedule this new 8-week therapy course for treating my paralysis is on Wednesday nights, right after work. Six down, so just two more weeks to go."

"It's no problem, Jack. You know we would do anything to help you and Angela out and Michael-Vincent is family to us too."

"Yeah, well, he was in a great mood when we picked him up last night. He must've had a lot of fun playing with Christine because he couldn't stop smiling." Hodgins leaned forward to look into his microscope at the sample Brennan had brought him.

"I'm sure," she responded dryly. "So, what do you think?"

"They look like trichomes, the hair like appendages that grow on certain kinds of plants."

"Mmm-hmm. That's what I thought. Can you tell what kind?"

"I'd have to do a little further testing to confirm irrefutably, but I'm pretty sure these are from the maple seed." Hodgins started to chuckle. "You know, maple seed trichomes are used as the main ingredient in a lot of commercial itching powders and are real easy to gather for making homemade itching powders too. As a matter of fact, Michael-Vincent and I were just experimenting with that last weekend. All you have to do is gather up some maple seeds and rub them together over a piece of paper and the small hair-like trichomes that cover the seed will fall off. Once you've gathered enough, you can use it for itching powder just like that or, if you're really industrious, you can grind them up a little first."

When Brennan didn't respond immediately, Hodgins looked up and found her standing there with her arms crossed, glowering at him. "Isn't that a coincidence? What you're looking at there just so happened to come from my house this morning."

Hodgins blinked his baby blue eyes once. Twice. Then, when it fully sank in that Michael-Vincent had used his newly acquired skill at making itching powder to create some (a skill Hodgins had just admitted he taught his son) and pranked Booth or Brennan while at their house the night before, his hands flew up to the side of his head and his eyes got huge. "Oooh, shit!" He started to laugh nervously. "Oh, no. What did he do?"

Brennan, having her suspicions confirmed and knowing for certain now that her husband would be okay, struggled not to laugh along with Hodgins. "All I'm going to say is you may want to talk to Michael-Vincent this evening about appropriate behaviors and the payback for pranks. I've been dealing with a very irritated husband this morning and I've no doubt he's going to want retribution."

"Booth? He used the powder on Booth?" Hodgins's laughter became laced with a hint of fear. "Oh, shit!"

* * *

As promised, Brennan gathered up a small tub of warm water, a hand towel, and some anti-itch ointment on the way back to her office where she found Booth sitting on her couch, his head resting on the back, eyes closed, and legs spread out in front of him. Like before, she closed and locked her door upon entering. Approaching her husband, she once again directed him to remove his pants.

Booth opened his eyes warily. "What's going on, Bones?"

Brennan smiled at him. "Nothing serious. I'll explain while I ease your discomfort. Now, stand up and take off your pants."

Booth did as he was told. Her earlier suggestion that he remove his boxers had helped significantly, but hadn't completely eliminated the urge to scratch between his legs. Right now, the tub of water she had brought back with her looked way too enticing for him to put up much of a protest. He was so desperate for some relief, he was willing to do almost anything she asked of him.

Brennan directed Booth to sit in her desk chair, legs spread, as opposed to the couch because any spilled water wouldn't damage the upholstery of the chair. Once he was seated, she knelt at his feet in front of him, a suggestive position they both would've eagerly taken advantage of under different circumstances. Brennan dipped the hand towel into the water and started to gently clean the affected area. Over and over again, she dipped the towel into the water, then dabbed at his skin, making sure not to rub, just to blot. She carefully cleaned his penis, then his scrotum, then his perineum, working around towards his anus last.

When done with the cleansing, she squeezed a little ointment onto her fingers and followed a similar process only this time, she didn't try to keep her touch clinical. The ointment served as a lubricant and she stroked her hand up and down his penis, applying pressure in a manner she knew would be sure to elicit a response from him. He'd had a rough morning and deserved some extra TLC.

Once he was fully erect and seemed to be relaxing, enjoying the treatment, she squeezed a little more ointment onto the fingers of her other hand and started to massage his scrotum with one hand while her other hand continued to stroke his cock. She liberally spread the medicated ointment over the irritated skin areas pulling forth moans of pleasure from her partner with her skilled hands. She supplemented her physical ministrations with a sensual monologue, huskily confessing the pleasure she received from seeing and feeling his response to her touch; using her skills at crafting stories to verbally paint a picture of how stroking him to fulfillment made her own body weep. At one point, he tried to protest, again mentioning their location, the time of day, and the proximity of other people, but she didn't stop until she brought him to release.

Brennan cleaned him up with the towel and water, then stood up and placed a soft kiss on his lips. Booth was completely relaxed now and his mood seemed much improved, a smile curling the edges of his lips, which was her goal. She leaned over her chair placing a nibbling kiss on the corner of his mouth, trailing her lips along his jaw towards his ear. She nipped gently on the lobe, extracting a throaty moan from him before confessing "It appears Michael-Vincent and Christine placed homemade itching powder in your boxers."

THE END

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 **A/N:** _Hope you enjoyed. Reviews and comments are always appreciated._


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